


The Truth About Cats And Dogs

by Not_You



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Animals, Pets, TV production
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:49:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: The one where Will is a dog whisperer, Hannibal is a cat whisperer, and the network is sure that these two great tastes will go great together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I get blocked on my WiPs: a different WiP. I regret everything. I especially apologize for the title.

"Must we?" Hannibal asks, sounding more genuinely plaintive than he ever wants to.

"I am afraid we must," Bedelia says. "The network is very insistent, and I have to agree that it could bring in a massive amount of new viewers."

"Dog people, I presume," Hannibal says, and does his best not to actually curl his lip in disgust. Few things fill him with more pure and childlike hatred than people who claim to be animal lovers but don't like cats, and Bedelia knows it.

"Perhaps," she says, "but the man himself seems to have some understanding, at least." She pours him another glass of wine and cues up an episode of Going To The Dogs on her laptop. 

The intro is entirely too folksy, and Hannibal knows immediately that he will have to have words with this man about his plaid background and the cartoon paw prints. Going directly to his clients is an interesting choice. Hannibal prefers to frame things a little more, but people describing their relationships in their own words can be very revealing. This couple are teary-eyed as they describe their dog's fear and aggression, and its detrimental effects on their cat. Hannibal can just imagine their feeble remonstrances making the dog even more certain that there's something to worry about.

For the actual face of this program, it takes Will Graham a while to show up. First there are shots of the dog, Oreo, in good moods and bad. She is a pretty thing, black and white with a broad, good-natured face. The cat, Princess, is a slinking silver tabby shadow, and Hannibal isn't sure that he believes the owners's assurances that Oreo has never actually tried to hurt her. At last, Graham makes his appearance, walking into the yard where Oreo is barking like enough noise will prevent the end of the world.

Many people watch Hannibal's show for the combination of his informative lectures on feline psychology and all the adorable cat footage. Watching Will Graham approach the dog with the unselfconscious ease of a fellow animal, bright eyes and unruly curls making him look Dionysian, Hannibal begins to see the appeal of this show.

"He's popular with adolescent girls, isn't he?" Hannibal asks, watching Graham shed his flannel shirt to reveal a ribbed undershirt clinging to lithe muscle.

"So are you," Bedelia says, and Hannibal sighs.

"The self-declared weird ones, yes."

Onscreen, Oreo is deeply alarmed at this interloper, and displays that fear with bared teeth and ferocious lunges. Graham makes soothing noises at her, sidling closer and closer. The dog is tense and still letting out the occasional disorganized bark, but Graham's utter lack of fear seems to have neutralized most of her aggression. She cringes from Graham's outstretched hand, but doesn't snap as he catches her collar, firmly telling her to sit. She does, still frightened but much calmer, and Graham croons to her about what a good girl she is.

"That's right," he purrs, scratching her behind the ears, "that's right, sweetheart. You're a good girl, aren't you?" Really, with his slightly husky voice and those fathomless eyes, the words sound positively insinuating. 

Hannibal wonders how many repurposed gifs of the show he could find if he looked. He takes a long sip of his wine and watches as Will leashes Oreo and walks her around the neighborhood. Every time she overreacts to a perceived threat, he gives a gentle tug of the leash to catch her attention, and then makes her sit nicely and gives her a small treat. One walk around the neighborhood can't possibly fix things, but the dog is much less tense when Will takes her back home.

Naturally, the human clients need more training than the animal ones, and it's here that Will seems to miraculously lose all his screen presence, fading into the background as he coaches Oreo's owners through acting assertive enough with her to keep her from worrying. The part of the show that Hannibal's viewers really come in for, where the host explains the psychological dimension of the problem from both sides, is absolutely the weakest here. Will and Oreo are photogenic enough to carry it off, at least.

"We're watching this particular episode for a reason," Bedelia says, just as Hannibal is starting to get bored.

Oreo may be calmer, but Princess is still in hiding. "I know you're not actually a cat guy," the man says hopelessly, peering into the crawlspace with Will, "but..."

"I'll give it a shot," Will says, and soon they're watching his GoPro footage as he crawls along the earth floor, quietly coughing a few times from the dust, and batting cobwebs out of his face with admirable calm.

The light is low, but Princess is clearly visible, curled up in a corner, staring at Will. He tries a soft, feline chirp of greeting, and while his accent is nearly perfect, Princess is having none of it. She hisses, and Will sits still, letting her deal with his presence. The footage flickers forward in time, and then Hannibal sees it: the way Princess's face relaxes, and then the new tension around her eyes as she fights not to return Will's affliliative blinking. It's a losing battle, and soon Will is making soft, wheedling noises and gathering Princess into his arms.

After that it's a montage of training Oreo to stay calm and simply letting Princess observe that her fellow pet is no longer as prone to flying off the handle. There are several shots of Will petting and playing with Princess with real affection, and whatever else his faults may be, he is clearly not the bad kind of dog person. The episode ends with Oreo and Princess playing together over the credits, and Hannibal has to admit that Going To The Dogs has its heart in the right place.

"So," Bedelia says when the file comes to a stop, "are you willing to meet him?"

Hannibal sighs, and drains the rest of his glass. "Yes, but we're going to need to talk about music and lighting."


	2. Chapter 2

Will settles into his couch and takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face. "Okay," he says at last, "start it up."

Abigail laughs, and pulls up an episode of Nine Lives on her laptop, resting it on the coffee table as she sits down beside him. "Come on, it's not that bad," she says. "Talkier than you, but he has something to say."

"If you insist," Will grumbles, and tips a little more whiskey into his glass as the opening theme for Nine Lives starts.

It's some kind of delicate classical piece that earns Will's immediate distrust. It sounds like it's full of harpsichord, if that's what a harpsichord sounds like. It's hard to be sure.

He's actually quite fond of cats, he just finds many of those who work with them professionally to be insufferable and pretentious about it. The man in the crisp checked suit does not inspire any confidence, but he does have presence, and there's something kind of compelling about his face, like an ancient and severe sculpture. Even if he is sitting in an actual wingback chair by a fireplace, like a complete asshole.

"Fireside chats with who, now?" Will mutters, and Abigail hushes him.

Will takes a long pull of his whiskey while Lecter actually lays everything out, where Will usually just lets his human clients talk and gets some footage of the animal. There's something autocratic in doing it this way, but it is also significantly slicker without actually being false. The accent helps, definitely.

"No wonder he talks so much," Will says. Lecter's voice is almost hypnotic, the kind of guy who could read the phone book and find an audience.

"Right? Tumblr says he's Lithuanian."

"I hope that's not just how they dress over there," Will says, watching footage of Hannibal meeting his clients in a plaid suit and a paisley tie. Will doesn't know anything about fashion, but he does know that there are rules.

"He's just couture," Abigail says, "or gay or something."

"Or something," Will grumbles, but keeps watching. 

It makes sense that the format is talkier, since they're dealing with cats. This episode is about the complex web of relationships between three cats and a sweet little rescue dog who is just delighted to be there and a bit too eager to make friends. Hannibal introduces each animal member of the household, and finally uses some work footage, a time lapse of his efforts to figure out how to best delineate each cat's territory while leaving some room for the dog to retreat. Had he bothered to properly befriend the dog first this would have been easier, but by the end of the episode there's plenty of adorable cat (and dog) footage, complete with a celebratory montage scored with more harpsichord.

"Do you think he's this weird on purpose?" Will asks, as the credits roll to more of the same weird classical harpsichord shit, and Abigail laughs.

"Talking to his agent, I'm pretty sure it comes naturally."

"And that makes me feel so much better. At least I know what do with pretentious assholes."

"Will," she says, turning to face him, her tone serious and sweet and maternal, "you need to interact with your own species more." She holds it for a few seconds before breaking into giggles at Will's disgruntled expression. "Come on, you said wanted a new project."

"I meant trying to get a book deal or something," Will grumbles, but he knows that he'll at least meet this guy, just because Abigail has gone to so much trouble over it. Caring about his agent was a huge mistake, but there's no way he can take it back now. Will sighs. "I'll meet him, but I'm allowed to not like him."

"Will, you don't like anybody," Abigail coos, and the laughs at the face he makes.

Will may not like anybody, but he's a professional. When the meeting is placed at the kind of pretentious and overpriced restaurant people using expense accounts always go for, he only makes a faint grumbling noise, and the night before he sets out a collared shirt, a blazer, and slacks. Ties can all go to hell, part of why he even got into working with dogs was to keep anyone from ever expecting him to wear one.

Abigail meets him outside and takes his arm, even though this looks enough like a date already. "You'll have people thinking I'm a chickenhawk," Will mutters, and Abigail just laughs.

"I'll tell people you're a friend of my dad's," she says sweetly.

Their table is reserved under Du Maurier, tucked into the right kind of corner for negotiation. Lecter actually rises in the presence of a lady, and offers Will the proverbial firm handshake. He's wearing the same kind of demented suit that he does for work, and favors them both with a small, reptilian smile.

Will is just glad to survive the first round of polite greetings and to sit down and fade into the background as the others talk. "Will," Lecter says, and Will does his best not to actually jump, "do you have any philosophical objections to wine at business meetings?"

"Don't get my agent wasted and we're good," he says, as Abigail rolls her eyes and kicks him under the table. It's a gentle kick, since Will has had to carry her a few times.

"If anyone's agent is getting wasted at this table," Bedelia says, "it will be me. Would we prefer red or white?"

They would prefer red, and somehow Will isn't surprised when Bedelia chooses something that looks like blood in the candlelight. Will doesn't really know wine, but this is subtle and interesting enough for him to keep sipping it, trying to figure it out as Abigail and Bedelia compare notes.


	3. Chapter 3

Taking a cab home because he never gets up from a table with Bedelia fully sober and tries to plan accordingly, Hannibal wonders just what he has gotten himself into. Will may have a certain strange, surly, gawky charm, but that doesn't mean he'll be any good to work with, to say nothing of the structural and practical challenges of combining their expertise. He supposes they'd need a segment each to talk animal psychology, and that Will will need a lot of help to do his. Hannibal refuses to give up the psychology, and they can't be asymmetrical. Besides, Will seems like he has some excellent insights and will just need help verbalizing them.

Hannibal has been unable to avoid acquiring four cats of his own, even as much as he ends up traveling. He has fostered many more in his time, but these are the ones who stuck around, three dark shadows and one mottled. They trill happily to see him and prowl around his ankles as the strokes them and talks to them quietly in Lithuanian. It's one of the ways they know everything is all right, since Hannibal prefers English when it isn't. He gives everyone a treat and checks both litter boxes and all the locks, prowling the edges of his territory just like a cat does before going to bed with the door cracked for his little housemates. 

They pad in and out all night on their own inscrutable errands, and it forms a nice, homey aural backdrop for Hannibal's half-drunk and definitely libidinous perusal of his various mental snapshots of Will Graham. There really is something remarkable about him, a wary, reluctant, but still obvious beauty. He has a precious and fragile quality that makes Hannibal want to bite him, and that's probably a bad sign.

In the morning he wakes up to the warm weight of a cat on his chest, as he so often does, and strokes it without opening his eyes. The sharp shoulder bones let him know that it's Winter Sky, Winter to his friends. Winter is the oldest of the four, named for his elegant grey and white blotches, and he is very insistent on the matter of breakfast.

It takes a few days for the producers to get back to them, but Hannibal is not at all surprised that they want to slap two successful shows together, particularly two that do actually have substantial overlap. There's plenty of Nine Lives in the can already, so he has time, and apparently Going To The Dogs is even further ahead. There's still no word on what they're supposed to call this synthesis, but that's really one of the least important parts.

Really, it's meshing styles that's going to be both integral and very difficult. Will has cartoon paw prints on plaid, Hannibal has a fireside set and composes his own incidental music on harpsichord. He's not even sure what meeting in the middle would look like, and calls Will to ask him. He's surprised not to go straight to voice mail, it is a little early.

"Hello?" he murmurs, and Hannibal smiles.

"Good morning, Will," he says softly. "I've been wondering about your thoughts on our project."

Will groans quietly. "Ugghh my thoughts. I've been trying to figure out how to put your schtick with mine without either of us looking like an asshole, and it's not going well, that's what I think."

Hannibal chuckles. "I have been encountering similar problems, and was wondering if we could meet to talk about it."

"...I gotta take the dogs out to the park, but maybe after?"

"Or I could meet you at the park," Hannibal says, because it is a beautiful day.

"...I guess you could," Will says.

Once Hannibal is sure of the directions and has taken his leave of Will, he makes two wraps and assembles a few little tidbits for the dogs. That done, makes sure that the cats will be comfortable while he's out, and then drives out to the park. It takes a while to get there, but when he pulls up to the parking for the hiking trails, he sees a pack of seven dogs swarming around the small boulder where Will Graham is crouched, waiting for him. He's wearing torn jeans and flannel, and has a baseball cap crammed over his curls. Hannibal can feel the smile stretching across his face and hopes that it doesn't look as ludicrous as it feels.

"Good morning, Will," he says, making his way through the dogs to the boulder. "I brought breakfast."

"You did?" Will asks, like there's a very real chance that Hannibal will laugh and declare himself to have just been fucking with him.

"I did," Hannibal says, taking one of the wraps out of his basket. It's still warm, the dishcloth on top doing its job.

"I can't believe you," Will mutters, and takes a cautious bite. The surprise on his face when he discovers that it's good should offend Hannibal, but on Will it's adorable. "This is really good," Will tells him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hannibal says. "May I feed your dogs? I brought them something as well."

Will insists on inspecting the treats first, but Hannibal was expecting that. It's not as if he knows much about dogs, anyway, so he's glad that these bits of pan-fried offal are acceptable tribute for Will's precious pack. The dogs really are very well-mannered, waiting their turns and being very careful not to nip Hannibal's fingertips, their tails wagging joyously. Will beams at them and for one glorious moment at Hannibal, and then leads the way down one of the less challenging trails.


	4. Chapter 4

Will has never had a colleague bring him a fresh, homemade breakfast before, and isn't quite sure how to take it. Along with the wrap, Hannibal has given him a small bottle that claims to be tangerine juice, and two paper napkins, for his convenience. Naturally, the dogs have decided that Hannibal is their new best friend, and Will has to admit that the food is fucking delicious. Excellent thick bacon and fresh vegetables are involved, and something kind of like mayonnaise but not. He eats every bit of his wrap and downs all the tangerine juice, which is like orange but brighter and sharper, and then thanks Hannibal again, trying to sound more sincere this time. 

Hannibal just chuckles, basket daintily over his arm. He looks like some bizarre combination of Little Red Ridinghood and the wolf. "You're welcome," he says. "Really, it's only polite to feed you if I'm going to thrust my company upon you."

"Well, we do need to talk about this show," Will says, "and I find taking a walk together conducive."

"With humans as well as dogs?" Hannibal asks, mincing around a puddle in a way that reminds Will of a cat.

"Usually, yeah," Will says. "Sorry, I forgot how wet this trail gets sometimes."

"I think I'll survive, Will. Now, which parts of your aesthetic matter the most to you?"

Of course he puts it that way, and Will chuckles. "Well... I think you're more attached to yours than I am to mine. I barely had any input on my opening or anything because I don't care that much."

"I personally would prefer not to involve cartoon paw prints in our opening, whatever else is eventually decided upon."

"I can live with that," Will says, "but I categorically refuse to do any of that fireside shit. You pull it off, but I'd feel like an idiot."

"Fair enough," Hannibal says, "but I categorically refuse to give up psychological analysis. I can be more brief than I am on Nine Lives, and I will be glad to help you verbalize the insights I know you have."

"I'm not sure how many insights I have, but I guess I could try," Will says, pausing to let the dogs pee at a particularly important place. "Oh, and we can have harpsichord music if you want, I kinda like your theme."

Hannibal preens a bit, another thing that's hilariously catlike. "I composed and performed it myself," he says, and that is something to preen about, all right.

"I am impressed," Will concedes, and Hannibal smiles at him, looking deeply amused. "Sorry, that sounded grudging," he says, and Hannibal shakes his head.

"I think I'm starting to understand you," he says.

"Well, God help you," Will says, and moves on with the dogs. "I can carry the basket for a bit if you're sick of it," he adds.

"Thank you, but it's very light and not too unwieldy," Hannibal says, following him up a small slope. "And if you do refuse the fireside set, where would you like to do our analytical segment?"

"I don't know, the client's couch? I just take what I find."

"I suppose," Hannibal says, "but so much of middle America has such bad taste."

Will snorts. "Snob. But you're not wrong, and it was bad trying to film in a living room where everygoddamnthing was burnt orange."

"Perhaps we could do it outdoors?" Hannibal asks, and it sounds more like a double entendre than it should. It is an idea, though.

"Maybe so," he says, and whistles the dogs to his side to let a woman with a giant Malamute leashed to her stroller go by. 

Sometimes Malamutes are trouble, but this one is too busy being a sled dog to care about Will's pack, even if they are off-leash. It's technically legal here, as long the dog is under reasonable voice control, but some dogs treat is a personal offense. People are always saying not to anthropomorphize, but Will is pretty sure they're jealous.

Once they have the trail to themselves again, Hannibal starts in on the technical questions, about lights, cameras, and angles. Will mostly leaves that stuff to the crew, and when he says so Hannibal gives him a pitying look. "I'll let you do pretty much whatever you want with that," Will says. "Really, my only conditions are no fireside chats and that if you want me to get psychological, you have to help me not sound like an idiot."

"I don't think you'll need much help, Will," Hannibal says, and he sounds like he means it. Will can feel his ears getting hot, and hopes they're not obviously red.

"Thanks," he mutters. "I usually run this part, you don't you have to participate." He doesn't always run this part, but it's far from a lie, and all the dogs are looking at him hopefully.

"I would be happy to join you," Hannibal says, and crouches, rolling up the hems of his slacks. He's not actually wearing running shoes, but they look like the kind of dress shoes that are so well-made that they work for most purposes. Will just hopes the soles aren't slick, but it's Hannibal's look-out, not his.

The dogs are overjoyed to have two whole humans running with them, and Hannibal keeps up just fine, basket hooked over and braced against one forearm. It's probably generating drag, but it doesn't seem to bother Hannibal one bit. His eyes are bright and when Will glances over at him he gives him a big, sharp-toothed grin. Will has to smile back, reminded of a dog this time, not a cat.

They come to a stop about a two hundred yards later, panting along with the dogs for a moment. Hannibal grins at Will again, and he grins back. Once the dogs have gotten their breath back, they all make their leisurely way back to the parking lot. Hannibal asks Will if he could maybe come by later to look at some of the pool of client video submissions the network has amassed, and Will agrees out of a mixture of professionalism and raw curiosity. Hannibal is so bizarre that Will just has to see how he lives.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal can't help double-checking to be sure that the house is quite clean, and of course he doesn't even bother fighting the urge to make up a nice plate of viewing snacks. The cats watch with interest, but know better than to attempt theft. He gives each of them a little bit of ham for being agreeable creatures, and then sets up his laptop on the coffee table. He could hook it up to the TV, but there's no real point. These are just the usual amateur pleas for help, they're not exactly full of breathtaking cinematography. He steps back and examines the situation. A nice comfortable couch so they can each have plenty of personal space while both being able to see the screen and reach the crackers and cold cuts.

He's just wondering if Will would mind a bit of white wine or if he out to break out some of the beer he keeps for Alana, there's a knock at the door. Prieblanda runs off to hide, the way she always does, and Winter Day and Naktis accompany him to the door, always curious about visitors. Tamsa perches on the back of the couch, watching from a safe distance.

Will is standing on the doormat, hands in his pockets. "Hey," he says softly when Hannibal opens the door, and Hannibal smiles.

"Good afternoon, Will," he says. "Please, come in."

Hannibal is used to the way people look at his home. It is very large and extremely well-appointed, and most people in his tax bracket don't spend as much of it on art. Will looks around, blinks, and then does his best to put some kind of polite expression on his face instead of the slightly sneering suspicion that wants to be there. He does slip out of his shoes, though, and smiles down at Winter Day and Naktis as the wind around his ankles and mew at him.

"The grey and white is Winter Day," Hannibal says, "and the black one is Naktis."

Will crouches to pet them, making soft little clicking noises. "Hello," he says, soft and sweet, and the cats purr thunderously and butt their heads into his open hands, demanding affection that he is happy to bestow. Tamsa just watches, and Will wisely ignores her. "That's Tamsa on the couch," he says, "and you probably won't see Prieblanda, she's very shy."

"I see," Will says, and gives Tamsa a nice, slow blink before standing up and letting Hannibal arrange him on the couch. Tamsa leaps off, but isn't too affronted to hang around, examining this dubious newcomer. "Oh hey, nibbles," he adds, catching sight of the plate.

"I make food at the slightest excuse," Hannibal admits. "What can I get you to drink?" 

He reels off the various options, and Will seems quite pleased to accept a bottle of Alana's beer, which of course breaks the seal for Hannibal. He pours himself some wine and settles in on the other end of the couch, not so close as to be obtrusive, not so far away as to be unfriendly.

"I have the playlist queued up," he says, and takes a small sip as Will starts it, since it's less of a reach from his seat. Winter Day curls up in Will's lap, and Naktis claims Hannibal's. She's friendly, but not as stupidly trusting as dear, sweet Winter Day, an absolute teddy bear of a cat. Will absently pets Winter Day as the first video starts.

There's a basic format for these things. The humans introduce themselves, introduce their pets, and then show some footage of the problem. Given the abysmal American average in the field of animal communication, this is a long playlist. Cats that run in terror from dogs, dogs that go in mortal fear of cats, violent fights, consistent food conflicts, animals that seem to be best of friends and then suddenly do their best to take out an eye. 

At this stage, the important part to watch is the humans. The biggest obstacle to getting any real work done is always the goddamn humans, and they do their best to weed out the most hopelessly aggravating and stupid people. The producers will inevitably slot a few of those back in, for drama, but hopefully they can fill most of the season with people who are willing to listen. One thing Hannibal is very pleased to find is that he and Will have similar priorities.

"I don't know if I could bear setting foot in that house," Hannibal says of one candidate, "but she does seem like she really cares about her animals and would listen."

Will rolls his eyes. "So your aesthetics can go to hell, Hannibal. Hath not a person with no taste hands? If we prick them, do they not bleed?"

"I suppose so," Hannibal murmurs. "Maybe if I complain about her they'll put her back in instead of one of the idiots..."

"There's a thought," Will says, and picks up another topped cracker. "These are really good, by the way," he says. "I should've said so before."

Hannibal chuckles. "I forgive you," he says, and then smiles wider to see Tamsa hop up onto the couch beside Will. She sits there with a regal and aloof air, but well within petting distance. Will does not fall for this, and keeps ignoring her. At last Tamsa cracks, and mews quietly, putting one tiny paw on Will's hand.

"Good evening, Miss Tamsa," Will croons, tickling her under the chin, and Hannibal laughs. Being with Will is pleasant and surprisingly easy, and the memory helps to sustain Hannibal through all the network bullshit that follows.

Meetings with producers are their own special kind of hell, and hammering out the details of this new media entity reminds him all over again of how hard he had to fight for a harpsichord based theme, to say nothing of the battle to play it himself. Will is basically no help at all, but Hannibal starts to understand why the little sister he never had is also his agent. Abigail is tenacious and poised and has all the stamina of her youth. She really does seem to have Will's best interests in mind, and Hannibal finds himself growing more and more fond of her.


End file.
